Three Sundays
by Yvearia
Summary: AH/AU Who-Are-You-Verse: Part 3. Set 6 weeks post Part 1. Things are good and starting to feel normal. Too good to be true? "Leaning down, he kissed the crown of her head. She smiled, but didn't look up from her reading. Chuckling to himself quietly, he walked back over to the Niblet, scooped her up, and carried her back to her bedroom. Felt nice to have a little sister again.
1. Long December

"Are you sure you wanna be here?"

"Pet, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. Some other things I could rather be doin', but… certainly no one else I'd rather be doin' them with."

"That was just veiled enough a complaint to be sweet," Buffy snarked, patting him lightly on his knee. "Dawn's coming," she whispered, as she heard her sister walking in from down the hall.

"Better not be," he winked. "This s'a family night."

"Better not what?"

"Better not miss a minute of the very dapper Don Draper," Buffy saved, not wanting her sister to know how much of a pervert her boyfriend was.

"Ugh. I hate him. He's such a cheating jerk-ass."

Spike and Buffy exchanged a look. They were still only a few episodes into the first season of _Mad Men_. "Wait till we get into series two and three," Spike quipped. "She'll be saying, '_I hate her. She's such a conniving bitchy… bitch_'."

"Spoilers much?" Dawn whined, covering her ears.

"Bitchy bitch?"

"Contradictory to what the Niblet thinks," Spike shouted in Dawn's direction, before turning back to Buffy. "It was the least spoiler-y descriptor I could come up with."

"So this is basically a show about miserable people?" the teenager asked, disdainfully.

"Yep," he nodded.

"And it's about the social situation during the sixties; drugs; music; sexism, racism, civil rights in general," Buffy added quickly.

"Makes me a whole lot more fond of my mum, gettin' a look at how she was raised versus how she raised me."

"Mom and Dad didn't grow up…" Dawn trailed off as she did the math.

"Dad was born in nineteen-sixty, Mom was sixty-four."

"Ugh!" her sister exclaimed. "Let us carry on with the miserable people."

"She thinks this is bad, should see _Revolutionary Road_," he muttered under his breath.

"God forbid." Buffy smiled and leaned into Spike's chest as she spun up the next episode.

Spike realized several episodes later that he was beginning to doze. The Bit was curled up on the other end of the Summers' ridiculously oversized leather sofa, using poor Andrew like a teddy bear. He glanced about the living room and saw Buffy sat indian-style on the floor, schoolbooks spread out all round her. He smiled as he stretched – proud of his girl. When she re-enrolled for next semester, she had decided to switch her major from English to Social Work. Bit of a stretch for her, but there was some overlap in the programs, and it was what she wanted. And if Buffy wanted it… Well, something deep down just told him it was damn well gonna happen, wasn't it?

He stood and began a slow saunter over to where she was perched in front of a thick text. Leaning down, he kissed the crown of her head. She smiled, but didn't look up from her reading. Chuckling to himself quietly, he walked back over to the Niblet, scooped her up with very little effort, and even less of a disturbance to the girl, and carried her back to her bedroom. Tucking her in reminded him not a little of caring for Ducks when she was in years eleven and twelve. Felt nice to have a little sister again.

_"Hmmm. I had a dream." _

_"Was it a nice dream, Kitten?" he would ask her as he smoothed the blanket over her shoulders. _

_"Yes," she smiled sleepily up at her brother, then, frowned closing her eyes tightly. "I was naming the stars. But I named them all the same and there was awful confusion." It was the same dream she would have at an increasing rate until the doctors would diagnose her mental disorder. Soon the stars would be singing to her and her dreams would turn into waking nightmares. But for now, knowing nothing of the tangle her mind would become, he could sooth her with a kiss on her cheek. _

_"It'll be alright, Dru. Go back to sleep and you're sure to have it all sorted by morning, Darlin'." _

_"Sweet William," she hummed. "Love you." _

_"'Course you do." _

"Spike?" Her young voice brought him back to the present. She was squinting into the light cast from her bedside lamp and he reached over to click it off.

"That better, Nibs?"

"Why didn't you wake me up? I wanted to keep watching miserable," she paused to yawn deeply. "People."

"You were snorin' -"

"Was not," Dawn interrupted.

"And you've got school in the morning."

"I think I'm sick."

"Yeah. Got to agree, but just 'cause you're deranged don't mean you don't need an education." He smiled snark-ish-ly.

"Go. Make out. Do nasty things with my sister, and leave me to my own devices."

"G'night, Nibs." Spike kissed his thumb and pressed it to the tip of her nose before retreating towards her bedroom door.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, Bit?"

"How'd you get to be so sweet?" Dawn stretched and turned over in her bed.

"I'll never tell." Trying to push all thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind, he left her room and shut the door behind him. Buffy was still sprawled among her text books in the middle of the living room floor. "Your sis's out."

Buffy looked up briefly and gave him a dazzling smile. He'd do anything to see that smiled again and he had some ideas. "Reckon you'll be gettin' pretty knackered yourself soon."

"I _am_ pretty tired," she mumbled, closing a book as she stretched. Then she leaned back to reach for her purse and fish out her keys. She tossed them to Spike, who caught them with minimal effort and proceeded to raise an eyebrow in question. "In case you'd rather stay at my place than on the couch."

"Perfectly good queen-sized down the hall, Love." He crossed the room and offered his hand to help pull her to her feet.

"Yes. Perfectly good and perfectly comfortable. But you can't sleep there."

"Why not?" he whined, then frowned adorably as he huffed out a breath in frustration, pulling her closer by the waist.

"Dawn," she pointed back toward the hallway with an exaggerated air. "I can't let her down by letting you in."

"Needn't be an obstacle," he smirked. "Li'l sis loves me."

"Spike, I mean it. Come on," she started in with her own whining as he began leading her to the French doors at the back of the room.

"I hear you're serious. So 'm I." He let go of her long enough to nudge the door open, then pulled her out to the back porch, dimly lit in the lateness of the Sunday evening. "I want you." He purred now. "You want me." Spike backed Buffy up against the trunk of an old live oak growing too closely to the house. "I can't come inside. So maybe it's time for you to come... outside." As he spoke he dipped his head in order to nudge her ear with his nose, breathing in and out heavily against her ear lobe. His hand found purchase under her sweater, and he felt her skin burning him like lava. It was December now and there was an actual crispness to the air, he remembered as he spared a thought for his coat that lay abandoned, still inside the house.

She shivered and moaned, and he felt gooseflesh rising where his arm pulled the warm fabric away from her skin. Drawing his head back, he looked at her, expecting to see lust in her eyes, but instead he saw that they were closed tight. "Never done this before, Goldilocks?" He traced the waistband of her blue jeans slowly as he waited for an answer.

She inhaled sharply as his fore and middle fingers snuck past the barrier of her denim. It was too much temptation and he lowered himself to his knees in front of her, causing another sharp inhale.

"That's not... well, _you know_ I've done..." she stammered. His mouth was on her lower belly, breathing hot and damp through her sweater. "Just never, um..." _Breathe and steady yourself, Buffy_. "Outside."

"Trick is, Pet..." He was flicking open her button fly as he spoke. "To keep ya voice down."

"Mm hmm."

"Wouldn't want the neighbors to get curious. Look out their windows..."

"Uh uhh." She shook her head as he began teaching her all about coming _outside_.

His head was buried in her shoulder as she smoothed her sweater back down over her waist. "You need to go." He'd somehow talked her into this – _this time_ – but she wasn't letting him take things any further tonight.

He looked up as she pulled away from him and turned around. "Wha's this, then? Don't girls usually enjoy a good cuddle after?"

"Spike, we shouldn't have… and now you need to leave. We can't be doing this with Dawn here. What if she had woken up and come looking for me?"

"A situation could have been avoided if we'd done what we did behind a locked bedroom door. Besides, I heard neither protest coming from you, nor complaint for that matter. In fact –"

"Spike!" she yelled, interrupting him. "I am not having this conversation with you. Not _now_, and _not_ on my father's back porch!"

"List of other things you were willin' to do on _Daddy's_ back porch, Love," he shot back, angry now.

"_Beyond_ regretting that now, lemme tell ya!" Buffy stormed over to the French doors and wrenched them open, forgetting how she was supposed to be concerned about not disturbing her sister's sleep. "Get inside," she ordered.

"So we can continue the shouting match in there? Don't think so, Betty." He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out his car keys and her apartment set. He tossed Buffy hers and turned to walk down the path to the front of the house where his car was parked.

"That's it?" she asked, stepping back onto the worn wood floor of the porch.

"Know when I'm not needed," he shouted without looking back.

* * *

><p>Was a few days before he saw Buffy again. He'd spent that night at the café and gone back to the Big House next morning. There'd been a note from the girl sitting on top of the coat he'd forgotten to take with him the night before.<p>

_Overreacted._

Sodding right, overreacted!

_Forgive me?_

_B_

He'd let the note keep till he had a shower and somethin' to eat, then he'd given her a call. She met him at his job a few days on. He'd hoped for an exhibitionist show of sloppy, hormone driven affection – something he could flaunt in front of the minions at work. What he got instead was a kiss on the cheek and:

"Dawn's midterms are coming up."

"Right. S'right. We've been workin' on her French final. Lots about Monsieur Hugo." He was confused. Course it was midterms. School'd be out in just over a week.

"Well, I just thought we maybe oughta cool it with movie night till the semester's over for her. You know. Remove temptation from the equation entirely."

"Right. And your pops'll be back for the holidays." He was beginning to see what his next few weeks would look like.

"Yeah. With her. _Ugh. _'Wife: the second'." She rolled her eyes at her nickname for their stepmom as Spike turned back to the liquor shelves he'd been restocking behind the bar. "But I thought you and Andrew could crash at my place." He turned back to her then, eyebrows raised in a pleasantly surprised expression. "And I'll only be staying at Dad's five days – Christmas week – tops."

"So…" he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, at the same time not wanting to mask his emotions _too_ well. "Won't be seein' you the rest of this week. Or the weekend. Nor next, or the week after…"

"Ohhh, come _on. _You can't get pissed off at me for this. It's just how it has to work."

"Guess it has to, then, doesn't it?" She shot him an annoyed frown at that. _Annoyed_! Like he'd done the wrong thing. Then Harmony rushed in from the door that led to the alleyway where deliveries were made.

"Spikey," she whined. "The delivery guy says we already paid him through the end of the month, but I thought bi-monthly meant we had to pay him twice a month. So I told him that just wasn't right and I tried to give him the check anyway. Then he said 'whatever, airhead' and he tried to take the check and I thought, ya know, since he made such a big deal out of not taking it in the first place, well, maybe I should… check with you."

"I gotta go," he said by way of apology to his bird as he followed Harm out the back door.

By the time he came back, she'd left.

The following Sunday'd rolled 'round and he'd offered to pick up a day shift since he'd had nothin' better to do. Regional manager had picked this Sunday – this bloody damn day of all days – to come in and work end-of-year reports. Sodding poof. He looked at his watch. Two more hours and he'd only have four more hours left of his shift. Shaking his head with his eyes shut tight, he contemplated knocking it into the exposed brick wall behind the coffee bar.

"Um… Mr. Spike?"

Spike felt a small, no doubt sticky, hand tugging at the bottom of his half apron. He opened his eyes to see the boss's four-year-old son looking up at him with great importance.

"My dad, um, my dad says," he stopped to wipe his little nose on the little sleeve of his miniature henley. "He, um, said 'go get Spike for me son'."

Spike had to smile at the kid's impersonation of his father – miniature brood-y look and all. He reached down and scooped the boy up to his hip before one of the day waitresses barreled him over. "Let's go find your pop, then."

"You don't have to find him. I know where he's at," the boy announced helpfully. "He's in the big room with the 'puters and all them stacks of papers."

By now, Spike was nearly to the door of the back office. He sat the kid down on his own feet and knocked on the open door, announcing himself. "Couldn't find a sitter?"

"His mom baled. Besides, he's a perfect angel, just like his dad." The dark-haired man at the desk was flipping back and forth between an invoice and a profit and loss report. "Hey, Conner, why don't you go help Miss Fred refill the sugar shakers?"

"Fred!" Conner shouted, running down the hallway toward the main dining room.

"Walk!" Angel shouted after him. "Hey, can you make sense of this?" he asked, turning to Spike and handing him the conflicting papers. "I was thinking…"

"Harmony," Spike confirmed with hardly a glance at the report in front of him.

"I was hoping not, but…" Angel shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, bloody fire the stupid bint!"

"I guess it's a good thing my kid doesn't speak British."

"Yeah, keep 'im away from me if you wanna cut down on the bad influence." He slumped against the wall and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "'S the popular theory these days – keep ya kids away from William Pratt."

"What?" The boss raised his eyes, curious, but really just thankful for the short distraction from work.

"Sodding… _girl_!" Spike growled before he could stop himself. "Nothin'. None a your business, is it, Peaches?" But Angel didn't take the bait of an insult as distraction from what Spike'd first said.

"You're girl have a kid?" Spike wasn't much younger then he was, but still… Spike with a kid in his life?

"Younger sister. And the Bit loves me, too. But… Betty doesn't like me 'round anytime the kid could think anything sexual of it. Like we're both celibate. Girl's fifteen. Knows about life, doesn't she? The birds an' the bees. Not sayin' I'm ready to walk 'round the house in my altogether in front of her, but… 'S a bit ridiculous, innit?" It wasn't till then that he realized he only called Buffy by her alternate 'Elizabeths' if he was upset or angry with her. Wondered if _she'd_ figured that out yet.

"Oh, I used to see a girl like that. Not too long before Conner… happened." It was no secret that Angel's son had been a mistake made between two people who couldn't stand each other anymore – hence, the shared custody. "She was really just a kid herself then. But her sister was young and… she was protective. Probably didn't want the kid to get hurt when we ended things." He stared at an invisible spot on the wall.

"She knew it would end badly, then?" Spike tried to keep the worry from his voice.

"I think we both did. She was really too young and… she was going through a lot. Hell, I was going through a lot. But… we both agreed… you know, it was best… mutually… that we keep our distance from each other."

"Sounds like you got it bad, Lover Boy." He was a little glad to see the poof in such a state, but he almost felt a little bad for him all the same. He knew that feeling.

"I saw her again. Little less than a year ago. Nine – ten months. We almost got back… But her mom'd just died, and we still had all those same problems we'd had before, and…" Angel trailed off, not realizing he'd quit talking, and Spike was beginning to feel a little ruffled.

"Well… looks like you used up what coulda been a good long smoke break, mate. Why don't I see to that, now, shall I?"

"Sure," his boss answered without giving it a second thought.

He hadn't had time to finish tyin' his apron back on when he saw Dawnie walking up the front walk to the door. She came inside and waved him down with a carton of take out in her hand. "Japanese fried rice, for the man who's gonna get me an A on my French final!"

"Awe, that's brilliant, Nibs. Really, but… Shouldn'a come all the way down on your own. Your sis'd have my arse in a sling if she knew."

"Nope," Dawn smiled. "'Cause she brought me. We were grabbing lunch and she said she'd drop me off here, that way she'd get to see you again, in case it was a while before… And I can ride home with you." She began to blush adorably as her sister made her way up to meet them at the bar.

"Hi," Buffy smiled at him. And it could've lit up the whole place after dark.

"Hi," Spike smiled back.

"Hey, when Harmony gets in, can you send her back to talk to me, Spike?" Angel asked, walking out of the back hallway. Then he saw her. Smiling like that. At another man. "Buffy?" Her head turned instantly at the sound of his voice saying her name.

"Angel."

"You two know each…" Spike began to ask. Then he registered the looks on their respective faces. And he knew. "_Bollocks!_"

* * *

><p>He packed up his gear and the cat that Friday and moved everything back to Buffy's apartment. She was grabbing her kit herself when he got there. Looked liked they'd be passing one another by quickly again – was like it'd been much of the past week.<p>

"Hey," she greeted, stretching up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Fridge is stocked. I even bought you some weetabix." She smiled a little nervously as she hauled her overnight bag off the floor and settled the strap over her shoulder. "Um… Willow will be in and out all week. She doesn't celebrate, and even if she did, her parents are… weird-different."

"D'you… want me to drive you?" he asked, just as anxiously.

"The parentals are springing for a cab. Besides, if they're early in from the airport, I'm not sure I wanna explain you to them yet."

"Right, then."

They both glanced down almost in synchronization. Andrew yowled, ready to be let out of his carrier, and the spell of awkwardness was broken.

"Yeah. That," Spike said, motioning to his cat. "So, I'll see you…?"

"I don't know. Busy. Christmas-y stuff and things."

"Right."

"I'll call you." She leaned up to kiss him again, then glanced at her watch. "Taxi should be here."

"Farewell, then. And all that jazz." He pulled her into an awkward hug around the large duffle that hung from her shoulder, then watched her walk away. Again.

That Sunday he toyed with the idea of Chrissy shopping. Wasn't as fun since he'd been away from Dru. He had to be careful of what he brought to her at the hospital. Just about all he could get away with were sodding safety scissors. But there was The Niblet to shop for this year. And Buffy.

The shops were packed, what with only three days left to scramble. He found himself stopping by the novelties and books shop that Harris' girl ran. The store, called Subtext, was located in the basement of an old druggist's that had been converted to a posh cosmetics boutique. He reckoned half the time Dawn spent 'working' for Anya was actually passed upstairs, sampling nail varnish and eye shadow.

Maneuvering past a throng of teenaged beauty queen wanna-bees, Spike made his way down the basement steps and into Subtext. The smell of clove, orange and ginger assaulted him immediately, soon as he made his way through the old, heavy iron and wood door. Anya must be capitalizing on the whole psychology thing – she'd been talking about 'scent marketing' for the last few weeks.

The room was packed to the rafters with volumes of books, anywhere from textbooks and reference to graphic novels and classic poetry. The shelves were interspersed with vintage toys and games, collectables, gag gifts, jewelry, and so on. What it seemed to be lacking this afternoon were customers.

Hearing the door shut, muffling the noise from the busy shopper-filled street outside, Anya quickly flitted out from behind the counter in order to greet her newest customer.

"Oh," she said, viewing Spike, the enthusiasm audibly dropping from her voice. "It's just you."

"Nice to see you too, Sweet."

"No. It's just… Do you plan to patronize the shop or are you just here for something to do with Buffy and Dawn?"

"Yes to both," Spike answered, turning about, wishing for something to catch his eye. He had no idea where to start. It was December and he had only been truly in Buffy's life little more'n a month, even though they'd met back in October. Either way you looked, wasn't a long time going on.

"You're looking for Christmas presents for the girls?"

"What d'you think? I mean with her workin' here, surely she's said something 'bout what she wants."

"Spike, there is _no_ fifteen-year-old girl on earth, or in any other dimension, who really knows what she wants. She may think she does, but…" Anya sighed heavily. "Just… sit. I'll be back." She turned to walk to a far corner of the shop, filled mainly with trinkets more than books. "Oh!" she exclaimed, turning back. "And if a customer walks in, try to look welcoming. Oh and very satisfied."

As he settled into a chair, his cellular vibrated in his coat pocket. Two short buzzes. Text alert.

_i have to put up with five more days of this_

He thought for a moment before replying. Wasn't sure he wanted her to think he had nothin' better to do than text-a-thon with her, but still… he didn't.

_Haven't seen your dad in months Nibs  
>Enjoy it 'for he leaves again<em>

_hes always working  
>its easier to ignore us<br>and she absolutely *wont* ignore us  
>ugh!<em>

Didn't know what to say to that, so he had to think another beat. Fuck it.

_How's your sis?_

_pretending she doesnt miss u  
>its disgusting really<br>u should come visit_

_Cause a row and you'd never see me again_

_balls  
>it would be more fun than u r having now<br>truth_

_Truth  
>I've gotta go Niblet<br>Have a better day tomorrow_

By that time, Anya was making her way back to the copse of armchairs where Spike had settled. She was carrying a filled jar and a little silk pouch. Handing him the pouch, she opened the jar and smelled its contents, smiling. It was a massive candle. "Old book smell," she said, happily.

"That sounds… not so good smelling," he accused. She passed him the candle and he cautiously took a whiff of his own. It was actually extremely pleasant. "What's it?" he asked, curious now.

"Timber, white tea, newsprint, and musk. One thing Dawn says that just doesn't compute coming from such a girly girl is that she loves the smell in our used book section. It came in a shipment last month and I was going to give it to her, but… I'll sacrifice my excellent-gifting status to help you save face at Christmas." She smiled with such benevolence that Spike had to suppress a laugh. He didn't wanna risk insulting her when she was being such good help.

"_You're_ a 'girly girl', and you obviously like it."

"I _am_ a girly girl. Thank you for saying so," she said proudly.

"What's in this, then?" he asked, this time giving the silk pouch a little shake.

"That's the fifteen-year-old girl part of the present. Open it," she instructed.

He shook the contents of the small bag into his palm and saw two identical, tiny, gold replicas of a smartphone. They were attached to a delicately curved gold wire each – earrings. "Ha!" He leaned across the side table to kiss the strange, but endearing woman's cheek. "Perfect."

As Anya was ringing his purchase up at the register, she paused a moment and pulled another large jar candle from below the counter. "Maybe something for Buffy." He uncapped the jar and took a sniff. There was richness and a warmth to it, but also something crisp.

"They call it?" he asked, turning the container over in his hands.

"Freshly Showered Sherlock. It's oak moss, sandalwood, tobacco, and leather." She took it back from him as he indicated she should add it to his tally. "I think it smells like you."

Buffy was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom she shared with Dawn while she was staying there. Her **low reservoir** alarm had just gone off on her pump and she had used it as an excuse to get out of the room – she wouldn't need new insulin for at least another eighteen hours.

The enforced 'Summers-family-time' consisted of Hank Summers sitting at the kitchen counter engrossed in work on his laptop, Dawn furiously texting one of her little school friends, and Tandy – 'wife: the second' – preaching crackpot cures for diabetes at Buffy. _"You let it soak all night and then by the morning when you drink the glass of water it was soaking in, your diabetes will be cured." _

Buffy had wanted to stand up and scream – "You left Mom for this dumb bitch?"

But then her alarm had buzzed and she had an excuse to run away from the sham of a holiday for a few minutes, at least. Thank god for small miracles. Shaking her head and stealing herself against the next ignorant words that were sure to spew forth from her stepmother's mouth, she left the bathroom and walked stiffly back into the fray.

He'd known it was a bad idea when she had texted him to suggest it, but sometimes you had to make the bad decisions – or was that _hard choices_? Whatever it was… Spike checked the time on his phone as he walked past the neighbors' back lawns. Near on one a.m. He walked across the grass toward the steps of the back porch and waited. He shifted Buffy's present from one hand to the other as he listened for the text. He'd taken the idea from what Anya had said about the candle's scent reminding her of him, and wrapped the jar in one of his tee shirts he knew Buffy liked to see him wear – a vintage Ramones shirt he'd had since he could remember.

She woke to Dawn shaking her foot in that annoying way she'd liked to do on Christmas morning since she was about four years old. "Buffy, wake up," her sister whispered.

"Santa isn't _real_," she moaned into her pillow, kicking out with her foot at the same time. The shaking stopped. Then she felt a pinch on the back of her upper arm. "Ow!"

"Santa isn't real?" Dawn asked as Buffy finally pushed herself to a sitting position in the bed. "_What_… the hell are you talking about?"

"It's not Christmas morning?" she asked her sister sleepily.

"No. It's about one in the morning, Monday." Dawn pointed to the LED clock on the bedside table in order to illustrate.

"But, then why –"

"You need to go outside."

"Is it freakin' _snowing_?" She threw the covers off and slipped into the jacket that Dawn was offering her, as if in consolation for waking her up. "'Cause I'm tellin' you…" _ Yawn_ "It better be."

"Not snow. But I _did_ get you a surprise for Christmas."

"_What are you doing here_?" she whisper-shouted from behind him. He hadn't heard the door close, he'd been so lost in thought.

"Out for a walk," he answered noncommittally.

He'd jumped at the chance when Nibs had offered it to him, sure. And even knowing it was a bad idea, he couldn't bring himself to stay away – in part because he knew it would piss her off, him not doin' as he was told. But mostly it was… he was desperate to see her. Always had been, he was realizin'. Since that first night, even when they were at each other's throats she gave him a thrill.

Couldn't let her see that, though. Not as she'd been so cautious about letting herself close to him. Couldn't take the chance to scare her away. The other hand, though, didn't she need to know he loved her? Whether she said it back or not he didn't care. She'd felt something. He knew it. He was in her system now. And sooner or later she was gonna crave him like he craved her.

"Lame." She stepped out of the house, pulling the door shut behind her and pulling him out of his internal monologue. _Sodding poet._

"What?"

"You. Making up excuses."

"I need an excuse to see you?" he asked, standing up, standing over her now. "Just thought it was a good time to give my sweetheart her Christmas pressie." He took a step closer, taking up a lock of her hair in his free hand. He loved that hair

"And you thought 'what better time than one o'clock in the morning' to, what? Bring me a… wad of dirty laundry?" she asked, looking down at his hand and the bundle held there.

"You're bloody determined to be angry with me, Betts." He tried to let the right amount of hurt temper the seductive tone in his voice. "I can always turn 'round and walk away. If that's what you'd rather." He said it calmly but he was a wreck inside, secretly worrying that's what she really did want. _So, this is what waiting with baited breath means_, he managed to think before she began to speak. _Put me out of my misery_.

"I don't want you to go," Buffy whispered. She stretched up on her toes to place a soft, open kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Not a morning person… it's _so early_," she whined halfheartedly, chuckling a little to let him know she wasn't serious.

He shifted the rolled up tee shirt into her hands and led her to take a seat on the porch steps. As he sat beside her she began to unroll the bundle. A smile spread across her lips as she realized what shirt he'd given her. She brought it up to her face, breathing in the scent of him with a sigh.

"S'not dirty…"

"I know. It smells like you though."

"Think it smells like the laundromat. Go on with the other one, now."

She let the shirt drop into her lap and began to unscrew the lid to the jar skeptically. "You bought me a candle?" she asked, eyebrows raised. Then she took a whiff. The tightness in her shoulders – she hadn't noticed it 'till it was gone – just melted away.

"Thought… been apart so much… might need somethin' to remember me by." His hand played with something nervously in his coat pocket.

"I haven't forgotten you, Spike."

Now he could hear a little bit of hurt in her voice. He hadn't meant to do that. Looking over he saw her eyes brimming. _Really_ hadn't meant to do that. He placed his hands on either side of her face, and leaned down to kiss her. Properly. A bloody Clark Gable quality kiss. Instead of fainting in his arms when he pulled away, as in the films, she was smiling broadly.

"Thank you for my pressies," she said cutely.

"One more to go." He reached back into his coat pocket, pulling out whatever it was he'd been fiddling with before. Reaching forward he opened Buffy's hand and sat the bundle into her open palm.

"You're giving me my keys back?" she yelped as she realized what he placed there.

"Yes," he answered calmly, playing with her hair again, trying to sooth her nervousness. "But it's not a bad thing."

"How is this not a bad thing? Keys back equals break up. Mix-y signals all over the place."

He chuckled lightly at her superb use of language, marveling again that she had once been an English major.

"Good because it means I don't need 'em anymore. Means… got my own set." Here came the dangerous part. She could have any number of reactions – most bad – to his confession. But she sat silent, staring at the cut pieces of metal sitting in her palm. "One to your place, one for here. I even made you a key to the De Sotto," he announced, fingering the addition to her keychain.

"It's so… It makes it so…" He heard her whisper faintly, though he was fairly certain he wasn't meant to.

"Make's us a real thing, don't you think?" he urged gently. When she still didn't look up he raised her chin gently with his fingertips so she had to look at him. "I love you," he spoke softly. "You know it. And I'm not goin' anywhere less you _make me_. So don't make me." She smiled a small worried smile, but it gave him the confidence to continue. "That don't mean I let you keep me at arms length, neither."

"No," she said finally. "I want you closer than arms length."

"And we have to talk…"

"I know. I'll tell you everything about him and me. Just… not now."

He guessed he would have to live with that. Quit while he was ahead.


	2. Byway

By way of explanation – because it could become a little confusing: I began the "Who-Are-You-Verse" as a stand alone piece. It was turning out too short to really be a multi-chapter, so I posted one chapter as the story in it's entirety. Then inspiration, plot bunny, whatever you like to call it, struck. Each subsequent – lets call them 'ficlets' – each subsequent ficlet was, again, to short to be a multi-chapter and I felt read better as a stand alone piece. They all relate and are part of the now greater 'verse, however they aren't written in order or that the events of one fic even immediately follows the next. Kinda fluid that way. So, if you are looking to get an alert when one of these ficlets goes up on , please request an author alert subscription – that way you will know when I post new material. If you alert a specific story, or ficlet as I'm calling them, you will not receive notification of new material.

By way of hopeless begging: Please, please, please review or PM! I'm in love with these characters in any capacity and I would LOVE to know what you guys think – either about where I'm taking my all-human cast, or about what's gone on in the Wheadon-verse.

Peace & Love

~Yve


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